Wreckage
by AnshaP
Summary: For the most beautiful stories always start with wreckage ...
1. Chapter 1

**Huge thanks to my beta, Fran (Sunflower Fran) and pre-reader Angela (Angela Abbot). Without the two of them, this story wouldn't have seen the light of the day.**

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 ** _'The most beautiful stories always start with wreckage'_**

 ** _– Jack Landon_**

The first time he saw her, she reminded him of a painting.

Streaks of reds, purples, and blacks, stippled the pallor of white.

Yet, there was no beauty in the dapple of colors, nor was there any comfort in the starkness of her canvas.

"Poor girl!" A feminine voice derailed his train of thoughts, making him jump.

He whirled around to gape at the kindly nurse behind him, unable to remember the last time he was taken by surprise.

The woman didn't look at him though.

Instead, she stared at _her,_ and he could almost taste the sickly bitterness of her sadness on his tongue.

"What happened?" He asked, but a fleeting glimpse into her mind provided him much more than the answer he sought.

"A victim of chronic abuse," The nurse paused, her lips drooping. "Her mother and step-father are the perps."

Something burned within him, the knowledge giving everything a new meaning with a jarring sharpness.

His considerable repository of medical knowledge didn't fail in ascertaining the severity of her condition. An easy task considering the multitude of machines she was hooked up to and the gauzes, which almost swallowed her whole.

Yet, it was her least life-threatening injuries- the bruises peeking through the dressings, which disturbed him the most.

His first impression was spot-on.

Isabella Swan was a painting … a painting of cruelty and heartbreak.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you for all the love you people have shown to this story.**

 **Special thanks to my beta, Frannie, and pre-reader, Angela for their constant support.**

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 ** _'Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light. I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.'_**

 _ **-Sarah Williams**_

Something about Isabella gave Edward an itch.

Gleaned from Carlisle's mind, the details of her brutal suffering nipped at him.

They made him want to hunt, to sink his teeth into tender flesh, to crush bones to dust. The lush crimson of bloodlust was tempting, the yearning to tear _them_ to ribbons, appealing.

But, there was a distinction, there was a line.

He hungered for their lives, not their blood.

There were some fates even monsters didn't deserve.

Yet, it was not her story, which made him pause.

If lives could be painted, his would be the darkest.

The swirls of blue, the flecks of gray, tarred in an endless swathe of black. He liked to think it had more colors when he was whole and good, not cursed and damned.

But, he had no way to be sure.

For so long the dark was all he had known, the shadows his constant companions.

Yet, something about her made him crave colors.


	3. Chapter 3

**A shout-out to all the lovely readers who reviewed and fav'd. Thanks a lot, guys!**

 **My sincerest thanks to my beta, Frannie, and pre-reader, Angela for the efforts they put in this story.**

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 ** _'Whatever makes you feel the sun from the inside out- chase that.'_**

 ** _– Gemma Troy_**

She followed him through the forest as he rushed towards the hospital.

 _'Edward?'_ Her thoughts were cautious as she approached where he waited for her.

"You are going to visit Bella." It wasn't a question, but a statement.

"Bella?"

Esme frowned, her tawny gaze making him squirm in a way he hadn't since his childhood.

"That's what she prefers … Alice told us."

Alice could see her? Something inside him loosened, the clench gave way, unfurling its wispy curls despite...

"Why didn't she tell me?" He demanded, unable to quell his irritation.

Sanguinity had eluded him since the four days he kept a vigil by Isabella. And now, to know the answer was within his grasp all along…

A pattering of footsteps prevented her from answering and him from unleashing his anger. They turned to face the copse from where the newcomer emerged.

"Carlisle called … The girl is awake."

And like lightning, he was off.

Jumping over the fallen logs, his feet barely touched the ground as he moved like a diaphanous wraith.

But not before she had seen him, and he had seen her.

Not before he had seen the icy mask crumble and break, the chaos of emotions fusing together to create something wondrous.

Long after Edward had left his mother and sister in the woods, Rosalie's parting words echoed in his mind.

"Good luck ... brother."


	4. Chapter 4

**A big thanks to everyone who has reviewed/favorited/followed this story so far. You all keep me writing.**

 **My biggest thanks to my beta, Frannie (SunFlower Fran) and pre-reader, Angela (Angela Abbot), who make my story so much better.**

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 ** _'Never apologize for burning too brightly. Or collapsing into yourself every night. That is how Galaxies are made.'_**

 ** _– Tyler Kent White_**

She was a small thing, all skins, and bones.

Shoulders hunched, she lay stiff as if to resist curling in on herself.

Her brows furrowed, nails dug into her palms until she drew blood. But, nothing of her turmoil showed on her face as she talked with the two policemen.

Her torment, her hardships, nothing seemed to faze her.

The men told her they had sufficient evidence to keep her mother and stepfather behind bars for a long time, and she thanked them.

They asked if she knew where her abusers might be hiding and she denied any knowledge.

Any question about the abuse was met with silence.

Her unruffled flatness unsettled the cop. He was as aware of their uneasiness in her company as he was of their relief when they took their leave.

But he Edward knew better, and not because he could read minds. No, to his boundless frustration, she was immune to his ability.

Yet read her, he did.

They say _eyes are the windows to the soul_.

And the naked pain in Isabella's eyes gave Edward a glimpse into her soul.

If bravery had a color, it would be brown.


	5. Chapter 5

**My beta love goes to Frannie (SunFlower Fran) and Angela (Angela Abbot). They make this story (and me) so much better.**

 **Please don't forget to leave your thoughts. I read and treasure every review.**

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 ** _'I want to apologize to all the women I have called pretty before I've called them intelligent or brave.'_**

 ** _– Rupi Kaur_**

"You watch me."

The tremulous whisper startled him. Her breathing remained even, her heartbeat steady, yet he had seen her lips move. For a moment he wondered if she talked in her sleep.

"I am talking to you." She opened her eyes, but her gaze didn't stray to where he stood.

His mind raced, skipping from one thought to the next. She has seen him, known of his presence, and he worried about the conclusion she might draw.

If the lateness of the hour couldn't rebut any logic behind his presence, then the stormy weather outside should. Yet, there he stood, cloaked in the shadows of her hospital room, locked in a battle of silence.

"You are the doctor's son- the pale one," She said conversationally as if an intruder encroaching on her privacy in the middle of the night was normal.

 _'Or,_ _maybe for her, it was_ _.'_ The grim voice of reason reminded him like the serrated edge of a knife, and he curbed an urge to gag.

How many times had her privacy been violated? How many times had someone found their cruel amusement in her? Was he any different from the savages responsible for her condition? The brutes who had left no stone unturned in making her life hellish?

Isabella exhaled loudly, and he froze, waiting for her scream of alarm, but it never came. Instead, she nestled into her comforter and sighed.

"Talk to me when I awake."

Never had Edward desired to hear another's thought as he did at that moment.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you all for the wonderful reviews. They make my day!**

 **And of course, this chapter would have been much less readable had it not been for the awesome duo, Frannie, and Angela.**

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 ** _'Caught between a strong mind and a fragile heart.'_**

Arriving the next day, Edward was startled to see Isabella's bed stark white and empty.

A reassuring hand clamped on his shoulder.

"Ms. Swan is undergoing tests."

The vicious chords squeezing his chest eased. His hands loosened on the metal frame, smoothing the dents his grip had formed.

 _'Impossible! And yet…'_

"Yet what, Carlisle?" A growl of warning escaped his clenched teeth, daring him to continue, "Yet _what?"_

It came to him then; the image of a man.

 _Face, a battle of feral rage and wild fear, he stood at the foot of a hospital bed, an_ empty _hospital bed, as if poised at the edge of destruction…_

The memory ebbed as swiftly as it had come, but its assault continued, the resemblance uncanny.

His hands clawed at his hair, almost ripping them from their roots. Eyes squeezed shut; he fought to erase the taunting image, cursing his gift of mind reading.

"You _know_ what, Edward." The apologetic, quiet voice of his mentor sounded like a death knell.

"No." He snarled, glaring at the older man, " _NO!_ "

"Denial won't get you anywhere."

Edward fled.

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 **AN:** _Face, a battle_ _of feral rage and wild fear..._ This alludes to Carlisle's memory Edward is seeing. The man in the memory is Edward when he first sees Bella's empty bed. Since he has never seen Bella leave her bed, his first reaction is fear that something has happened to her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi! Many thanks to everyone who read/ reviewed/ favorited the last chapter. The positive response is overwhelming.**

 **Many thanks to Frannie and Angela who handle the madness that is this fic.**

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 ** _'Never have I dealt with anything more difficult, than my own soul.'_**

 ** _–Imam Al Ghazali_**

"Why do you watch me?"

"Because you interest me."

His answer took her off-guard. She goggled at him for several moments, as if the words were too difficult to sink in.

" _Why?_ What do I have that would interest anyone?" Disbelief and suspicion laced her soft timbre, "What do I have to interest _you?"_

He sucked in a harsh breath, her timorous question rankling him.

Unthinkingly, he reached for her, the urge to touch, to comfort overcoming his reservations.

She flinched.

Something pierced him, brutal and sharp; his hand dropped to his side in a hollow agony. It made him want to tear things down, _certain_ people until they could no longer be put together.

An enraged growl rumbled in his throat- a promise of murderous intents and vicious ends.

And the world collapsed in on itself.

Shifting and spinning, blurring and fading, it melted in a miasma of chaos and fire. He knew not the fall, the noise, the silence as the ache in his chest consumed him.

 _'Snap out of it, Edward!'_

"I am sorry. I am so, so, _sorry!"_ She pleaded, writhing in the bed.

 _'It's only a panic attack ...'_

"I will do anything, _anything!_ Just please ..." Nails broke through the skin, drawing blood.

 _'Anger scares her …'_

"It hurts. _Stop it_!" Tears clung to her lashes, dripped down her gaunt cheeks.

 _'Quite normal for abuse victims …'_

"Mum, stop him! Please, please, please, Ma, stop him! _"_ Limbs flailed, fighting invisible demons.

 _'Not your fault. Anything could have triggered her …'_

"I can't take it … not anymore!" Arms covered the head, almost smothered in the pillow.

 _'She will calm down soon …'_

The sedatives kicked in, quieting the fervency, hushing the moans. Taking shuddering breaths, Isabella fell into blessed sleep.

Yet, the burning did not cease, nor was there any reprieve.

Long after Morpheus claimed Isabella, Edward still heard the whimpers of her broken pleas.

 _'I can't take it … not anymore!'_


	8. Chapter 8

**A shout-out to everyone who read/reviewed/favorited this story. Your responses made my day!**

 **I owe the readability and polish of this chapter to the talented duo, Frannie, and Angela. They keep my errors and creative idiosyncracies in check.**

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 ** _'We live by the sun, we feel by the moon.'_**

The storm blew over.

Or it was just the start.

It ate away at him, the silence, _her_ silence, as he stood by her like a faithful sentinel.

Having learned his lesson well, he stayed out of sight. He saw her through the minds of others or listened to the rhythm of her heartbeats from the woods beyond.

Yet, the cloak of the night brought with it the end of his control. On silent feet, he would steal into her room to watch her sleep, and soothe her nightmares till the break of dawn.

But holding himself back didn't mean he gave up.

The burst of colors on her bedside marked his persistence. Roses, magnolias, lilies, chrysanthemums … he sent her flowers every day, carrying the messages of his guilt, his pleas for forgiveness.

Some found his gesture sweet, while the others, futile. The hospital buzzed with gossip about the kindness the doctor's handsome son was showing poor Isabella Swan.

But he didn't heed; the fickleness and envy failed to set his teeth on edge.

Instead, he waited.

With a single-minded fervency, he hoped his anger had not destroyed everything.

For the first time in years, Edward prayed to a God he did not believe in for a deliverance he felt he did not deserve.


	9. Chapter 9

**I'm simply blown by the responses and positivity this fic is getting. Thank you!**

 **The credit for this chapter goes to Frannie and Angela who make my work worth reading.**

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 ** _'It was rather beautiful,_**

 ** _The way he put her insecurities to sleep._**

 ** _The way he dove into her eyes,_**

 ** _and starved all the fears,_**

 ** _and tasted all the dreams she kept,_**

 ** _coiled beneath her bones.'_**

 ** _-Christopher Poindexter_**

"No one ever waited for me … or apologized," Cinnamon pools of eddying bewilderment met his. "Why would you do it? Waste your time?"

Frail fingers ghosted over the scars on her hand, the crisscrossing lines dotted with scabbed lesions. Pain etched her pale face, whispering echoes of resigned acceptance.

"It isn't your fault that I am broken."

The words hung between them, quivering and helpless. Then they shot like arrows, finding purchase on flesh, searing skin, grinding bones.

A whimsical thought was all that kept him sane.

Abruptly he turned, almost tearing his school bag in half to take out the tiny bottle he always carried.

Cool hands touched the warm ones, aware of every shiver and flinch. A finger dipped, then traced and swirled, dancing on the raised tissues and blue veins.

Breaths increased and heart stuttered, beating at a ragged tempo.

But when the pirouette ended, so did the trembles.

Umber eyes blazed with satisfaction at the dawning sun, its yellow rays spanning her wrist, hiding her wounds.

His colored palms held her calloused ones captive as Edward met Isabella's stunned gaze determinedly.

"There, now you are beautiful."

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 **AN:** Why Edward keeps that little bottle of paint with him all the time, will be revealed in later chapters.


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you for being such wonderful, brilliant readers. Please don't forget to leave me your thoughts.**

 **The credit for readability and flow of this chapter goes to Frannie and Angela. This story would not have turned out as it has, had it not been for them.**

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 ** _'In everybody's life, there are hidden chapters, which they hope may never be known.'_**

 ** _– Agatha Christie_**

"So, you are not leaving."

"I wasn't going to."

She snorted. "Don't play us for fools, Edward. Even without Alice's visions, we knew you were ready to bolt the moment Carlisle confronted you."

"Enough, Rosalie!" A voice interrupted from the story below before he gave in to his mounting temper, "Give it to him."

"It's _not_ for him."

"Be that as it may, just hand it over and let him go."

A packet was thrust into his hands with a sharp glare, and he stiffened.

"Art supplies?" Testiness thawed; her hard lines softened at his unease.

"As carefully as you have preserved your mother's colors, they will be of little use to you now."

"I don't paint, Rosalie," He bit out, face a study in inscrutability.

A brow winged archly. "Yet, you did yesterday."

He faltered; his impulsive painting after almost a century had not crossed his mind.

"That was different."

"Sure it was," She raised a hand to stop his curt retort, "Now off you go … Don't keep Bella waiting for long."

Picking his battles wisely, he made his way to the hospital. The careful blankness of his sisters' minds frustrating him almost as much as he hated not knowing.

But he found the meaning of their cryptic words and impromptu gift soon enough. As Edward bounded into Isabella's room, she looked up at him with guarded eyes.

"Will you teach me how to paint?"

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 **AN:** Art is also one of the types of therapies used for remedial or diagnostic purpose much like equine therapy.


	11. Chapter 11

**Many thanks to all the readers for your encouragement and support. This story would not have been here without you all.**

 **Special thanks to Frannie and Angela, the two patient and gracious betas who make this fic worth reading.**

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 ** _'Out of your vulnerabilities, will come your strength.'_**

 ** _– Sigmund Freud_**

There were good days and bad days, the progress slow.

Her wariness hampered them, so did her injured arm, but she made do with her determination.

His memories haunted him, a war of another kind waged between his brain and heart.

Constraints on his time didn't help much either. Carlisle didn't allow him to ditch school, nor could he afford to skip hunting.

Yet, neither gave up or desisted.

Their hands were streaked with colors. Paint spotted and smeared their skin, nails, and also their clothes; no amount of washing could remove the patina.

Even her scent reeked of acrylics, instead of the wide concoction of medicines she was made to swallow every day.

Drawing papers occupied her bedside table, striped with their practices of brushstrokes. Smooth, crisscrossing, flat, dry, he taught her from the roots, yet his patience never waned.

His muscles felt atrophied, but they had not forgotten the feel of slim, smooth wood. He wielded brushes as if they were but another part of him.

 _They say to teach is to learn twice._

And as Edward taught Isabella the finer nuances of art, he learned more than he ever had, more than his mother had taught him all those years ago.

So they learned together … until the storm broke.

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 **AN:** A couple of readers commented that the conversation between Rosalie and Edward was slightly disjointed in the last chapter. I agree, but chapter 10 formed the base for revelations to come. So at this point, I can't clarify your doubts without giving the plot of next few chapters away. I'll answer any question you may still have after chapter 13. But just in case it wasn't clear, 'the leaving' Rosalie was talking about in the last chapter was Edward thinking of leaving Bella for her supposed good after Carlisle confronted him about his developing attachment to her in chapter 6.


	12. Chapter 12

**The polish of this chapter is owed to Frannie and Angela, who very patiently dealt with all my errors.**

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 ** _'I'm the darkest sunlight.'_**

 ** _–Jessica Katoff_**

A chilling foreboding nipped at him when they dragged him out.

"What's wrong?"

"They were caught last night, trying to flee the state," The grim announcement was greeted by silence; then onyx bled into ochre.

Trees were uprooted, shrubberies trampled, and boulders crushed. Birds screeched, and animals whined, sensing the superior predator and fleeing for their lives.

Like a tornado he wreaked havoc, inevitable and unstoppable, destroying everything in his path.

And when nothing of their backyard was left but shambles, he stopped.

Rage abated, he panted wildly, lungs aching for air he no longer needed.

"You need a shower," The mild voice reminded him of the company he had, bringing him back from the past.

"Excuse me, gentlemen." Edward nodded and took off towards the house without a backward glance at his brothers.

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 **AN:** What do you think the fallout of the capture of Renee and Phil will be?


	13. Chapter 13

**My gratitude and love to everyone who read and reviewed/favorited the last chapter. Please don't forget to leave me your thoughts.**

 **Special thanks to my betas, Frannie and Angela, who patiently corrected all my mistakes.**

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 ** _'And in the middle of my chaos, there was you ...'_**

 ** _–Paullina Simons_**

She was stubborn in her pretension.

Neither a twitch nor a squirm belied her wakefulness, as she lay stiff as a log.

He had known it, _expected_ even, some fallout in the aftermath of _their_ arrest, but it still hurt.

After days of being the only person she let in, her sudden distance was jarring.

But that did not mean he gave up; he was stubborn in his persistence too.

"I had given up painting."

Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, the unexpected admission shocking her, but they smoothed again. Undeterred, he continued.

"My mother taught me how to paint … how to cherish and love the art. She used to breathe life into her creations; so brilliant and perfect she was."

A familiar ache throbbed in his chest; the bitter pang of longing for a woman long dead. His memories were murky, the precious moments evanescing in the void of time.

Yet, the warmth of her love still lingered, reminding him of everything he had lost.

"When she died," He whispered, tracing the crescent mark on his wrist. "A part of me, _the best part of me_ , died with her too …"

 _And left behind a husk of a man eking an existence_ _in the dark_ _…_

"What changed then?" The quiet query jolted him to the present.

Warm honey melted into soft caramel, sweetening its essence, branding its presence.

"Light found me again."

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 **AN:** In case it wasn't clear, the paint bottle Edward used to paint Bella's wrist (Chapter 9) and the 'colors he preserved', as Rosalie called it (Chapter 10), belonged to his mother.

I hope Chapter 10 is clear now. If not, then please let me know and I'll try to clear your doubts.


	14. Chapter 14

**The reviews left for the last chapter stunned me. Thank you, everyone, for your kindness.**

 **Th credit for the flow of this chapter goes to be my beta, Frannie, and soundboard, Angela. Without them, this chapter would have been a big, awkward mess.**

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 ** _'In your eyes, I see my soul ...'_**

"She's getting better."

He nodded, sensing the coming 'but.'

"But, she has a long road ahead of her. The years of malnutrition and injuries won't disappear overnight, nor will the mental scarring … What she needs above all else is a stable home and diligent care."

His chair crashed to the floor as he jumped up. He didn't have to be a mind reader to know what was coming next.

"Absolutely not!"

"Edward …"

"No, Carlisle! Living with seven deadly, _blood_ sucking vampires would-"

"Be far better than being fobbed off on strangers who wouldn't know one whit about caring for her," The seldom-used authority of the clan leader made itself known, "Who might even abuse her, or take advantage of her vulnerability."

"We can keep an eye on her."

"For how long? And will that work for you, keeping away from her but for the nights? Think what you will, but you're not strong enough to keep your distance from her. Isabella is your soul-mate, Edward, and the sooner you accept it, the better."

A humorless laughter gurgled in his throat, more poisonous than his own venom. Edward doubled over, winded, the irony of _that_ claim not lost on him.

"I don't have a soul, Carlisle."

His bleakness met no rebuttal. Instead, bloomed to life like a picture.

 _The man was engrossed. A steady stream of instructions flowed from his mouth in tandem with his moving hands._ _He was statuesque, appearing more handsome than what he had created._

 _Yet, it was not his_ _aquiline features,_ _which made him stunning, nor was it his fluid_ _grace, which_ _added to his appeal._

 _No, it was_ she _who gave him an unearthly beauty … The woman looking at him with acute wonder and fledgling hope._

 _She watched him as if he was salvation … her salvation._

The memory receded but left behind a tide.

Ebbing and waning, frothing and raging, the waves crashed over him as a deadly storm. Caught in the swell, he descended to the depths unknown until a question stilled their all-consuming fury.

 _'Don't you?'_

And Edward was washed ashore.

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 **AN:** _The man was engrossed ... -_ This was a memory Carlisle shared with Edward. It's his recollection of how he had seen Edward and Bella together, more importantly, the emotions of the latter while the former willingly spent time with her and taught her painting.

 ***** _Don't you? -_ This was a rhetorical question of Carlisle to Edward's claim of not having a soul. He's trying to make the younger vampire realize the way Bella sees him, for sometimes one needs others' perception to see what they truly are. Hope that made sense.

 ***** And if you want a sneak peek into the next chapter, you can go and search Nikita Gill's _'Questions I Am Too Broken To Ask'._ The poem fits the next chapter to a T.


	15. Chapter 15

**Warning:** This chapter is pretty graphic. Please don't read it if you have trigger issues.

 **Huge thanks to Frannie and Angela for their help, suggestions, and corrections. All mistakes are mine.**

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 ** _'Tell me, darling,_**

 ** _Would you still love me,_**

 ** _if I told you about the monsters_**

 ** _I need to sing to sleep every night?_**

 ** _If you understood the way I need to tiptoe_**

 ** _across my own mind_**

 ** _so I can fall asleep before daylight?_**

 ** _If you knew_**

 ** _Where the nightmares came from,_**

 ** _If you saw my scarred soul,_**

 ** _Would being with me terrify you?_**

 ** _If you knew the full extent_**

 ** _of the damage they have done to me,_**

 ** _would you stay,_**

 ** _would you still want to?'_**

 ** _\- Nikita Gill, Questions I am too Broken to Ask_**

"I wanted to die."

The bottles broke and fell in a cascade of sparkling glass. Colors spilled downward, blending and tinting his arms and then his shirt.

"The beatings, the punishments- they were all right. Maybe I deserved them since I always messed up, destroyed everything … But that day, he just … and I couldn't …" Her chin wobbled, tears clinging to her lashes, "It hurt _so_ much. I felt like I would split into two … burn to _death,_ or bleed. There was blood, so much _blood …"_

He jerked violently; the implication of what she was trying to tell came to him in a moment of soul-wrenching clarity.

"I tried to move, to get away, but he wouldn't _let_ me, wouldn't stop _moving …_ And then he finished … in _me_ ," She shuddered, curling in a small ball, "He lost it … threatened me. Said I should dare not tell anyone, or … or spawn another wh … whorish bastard for him to feed."

Hands balled into fists and pressed to mouth in a bruising hold.

"I was in pain … delirious with hunger and thirst … and _scared_ … I knew I wasn't strong enough to sustain one, but if worst came to worst, knowing my luck … I didn't want to taint an innocent child with my curse ..."

Voice scant above a notch, Isabella raised her tortured eyes to his, beseeching.

"I wanted it to be over."

"What did you do, Bella?" Edward stared at her in a silent plea, begging her not to put into words what he could sense coming, "What did you _do?"_

Yet, there was no stopping the wreck.

"I threw myself down a flight of stairs."

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 **AN:** So you know some of Bella's story. Please leave me your thoughts. I know the quote seems longer than the chapter, but I thought the poem fit here aptly.


	16. Chapter 16

**IMP AN:** Constructive criticism is welcome, not illogical or demeaning ones. I've never shied away from readers' criticism if it has a sound backing and the error is genuine on my part as it's one of the reasons I took to posting on fanfiction. I'm pursuing the course of Chartered Accountancy which is as far removed from English literature or becoming a writer (as I aspire to become one day) as it can be. So believe me when I say I am not delusional enough to think my works are up to the par on any parameter.

But that doesn't mean I'll tolerate insults and cattiness. There're lots of absolutely wonderful readers, some of whom have been with me since I first started posting here on fanfiction. Each one of them has taught me a lot, but most of all they all have seen my writing at absolute worst at some point or the other. They criticize me, yes, but with the objective of helping me improve and not to dish out crap. So if you are here solely for the purpose of unloading trash, please go away. That's what dustbins are for.

As for the others, you guys are the best, most fabulous readers any writer can ask for. Thank you!

Many thanks to Frannie and Angela who bring out the best in this fic.

* * *

 **'I promise you will look back on us, and never wonder if I loved you.'**

 **–Leo Christopher**

Defeat was what she looked like.

Gone was the light he had glimpsed in the borrowed memory; the light he wanted to see for himself.

Instead, a dark misery hung about her like the looming blight of her demons.

"You think you are cursed."

"I _know_ I'm cursed."

The prompt correction made it difficult to bite his tongue, to keep his opinions and protests contained.

But contain them, he did. He knew which battles to pick, or rather how to pick them wisely.

"Help me make a painting."

Sable orbs flew to his as if questioning his sanity, but she complied nonetheless.

Reds, yellows, whites, browns; the colors mingled to birth others in a long dance of symphony. Shielded from one's eyes, under the ministrations of another's, the lines meshed into curves.

And when they ended, the product was startling.

A smile bloomed to life on his face when Isabella tried to peek, her curiosity unconcealed.

"Here, I'll show you."

Fingers fluttered, tracing every dip and plane. Tenderness softened the umber gaze as Edward willed her to see what _he_ saw, what he had tried to render.

The portrait of the girl who had knocked him breathless in a mere memory …

"Would you call _this_ cursed?"

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 **AN:** Edward made a portrait of Bella as he saw her in Carlisle's memory in Chapter 14.


	17. Chapter 17

**My sincerest gratitude to everyone who favorited and reviewed the last chapter. The positivity and support of each one of you is the making of this fic and me as a writer.**

 **The credit for readability and polish of this chapter goes to Frannie and Angela. They graciously bear all my mistakes and patch up the loopy storyline.**

* * *

 ** _'The day will be what you make it, so rise like the sun, and burn.'_**

 ** _– William C. Hannan_**

The battle line was drawn at the edge of a fall.

And the hunted was Isabella Swan.

Her case gained momentum and from the extent of her injuries, sympathy. Criminal mistreatment charges were filed against her abusers, and as the trials neared, so did the buzz around her.

Then came a shrink, a certain _Tanya Denali_ to help her come to terms with her past.

"No!" He snarled, baring his teeth, determined not to let her anywhere near Isabella. To his surprise, she snarled back just as coldly.

 _'I'm not so low as to harm that girl just because I've the hots for you, Edward. She needs help … a_ lot _of help, and there's no psychiatrist with knowledge and expertise as extensive as my own … Or have you forgotten it was_ me _who helped Rosalie move on too?'_

She pursed her lips when he didn't straighten from his threatening crouch. A flurry of memories assaulted him, of her in various _positions_ with different men.

Her smile was as smug and unrepentant as it was vindictive when he cringed back in disgust.

 _'Besides, why would I tie myself down when there are so many_ _fish_ _in the water even if the man happens to be a fine piece of ass?'_

She flipped her locks, stepping around him to walk towards her car.

 _'_ _Now, if you'll excuse_ _me,_ _I have a_ _patient to see.'_

But he couldn't let her go … not so easily.

"Touch a single hair on her head, and your ashes _will_ grace the ground, Tanya."

And despite the nonchalance of her snort, Edward knew he had scared her witless.


	18. Chapter 18

**Thanks for the brilliant response to the last chapter. I treasure each of them.**

 **Special thanks to Frannie and Angela, who graciously deal with all my errors, and make this fic readable.**

* * *

 ** _'And the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom.'_**

 ** _– Anais Nin_**

"The papers are ready."

He snorted. "Of course, they are ready. You are an intimidating man, Jasper."

"It was Rose who moved the strings."

"Rosalie?" His head jerked up in shock, "But she … she _dislikes_ me, and Bella is a _human!_ "

"A human who has been abused- something Rosalie can empathize with, perhaps better than anyone else. Bella's humanity was never the cause of her attitude … Alice shared with us your decision to leave after your confrontation with Carlisle."

"I didn't leave."

"But you almost did, and that's what has her pissed … She steamed for _hours_ about how you always push people away!"

"We are _vampires,_ Jasper. I can't go and be chummy with everyone!"

"But you can be close to _us_ , your _family,_ Edward."

"I _am_ close to you. For crying out loud, we have lived together for decades!"

"Yet, there's always this wall of ice around you, which has never thawed after all this time. Had it not been for the gifts Alice and I have, you would essentially be a stranger to us, Edward." Blazing amber stared at him with blunt honesty.

"You need to let people past the front porch, not shut the proverbial door in their faces."

The accusation, though it was anything but, hit him like a jackhammer. Edward opened his mouth to defend himself, yet his tongue refused to budge.

"Stop letting your demons dog your steps, Edward. You have Bella's to fight _with_ her." Jasper grimaced, lips pursed in a thin line.

"And God knows that girl has them in abundance."


	19. Chapter 19

**Huge thanks to all my readers who drive me to try and write my best.**

 **Special thanks to Frannie and Angela who make this fic far better than it originally was.**

* * *

 ** _'Some people are_** ** _artists_** ** _. Some themselves are art.'_**

It was a garden of decadence.

An English laurel hedge was the canvas from which it all popped. Boxwoods and hornbeams softened the straight lines as hundreds of blossoms dappled the landscape.

Vines twined on trellises and eaves, bowing with the weight of fragrant blooms. A pea gravel path crossed the green carpet, leading to a wooden bench by a grove of Russian Sages and Spanish Bluebells.

"Bella loves nature," Lilting soprano broke through his amazement. "This is a little welcoming gift."

"It's beautiful, Alice! She will adore it."

"Oh, I know she will, but not more than _your_ gift."

Her knowing smirk embarrassed him. He felt like a kid caught with candies he was not allowed to eat.

"She … she will?"

It was an impasse, the blasting cacophony of her mind denying him a peek. The battle continued until the naked anxiety, and raw hope in his gaze won her out.

"She will love it, Edward," Alice reassured him; the white noise of her thoughts obscuring the gentle whispers of his future to come.

 _'As she will you …'_


	20. Chapter 20

**Many thanks to all the brilliant, fabulous readers who follow or leave a review.**

 **Beta love goes to Frannie and Angela who soften all the rough edges of my work.**

* * *

 ** _'She fell so naturally in my arms. Like a flower in the sun.'_**

She looked like a deer caught in the jaw of a lion.

Head bowed, she hid behind the curtain of her hair as Carlisle provided the introductions.

"We are so happy to have you here, child," Golden orbs peered at her, dewy with compassion. "This is now your home. Please don't hesitate to ask for anything."

Esme's words, gentler than the brush of a wing, snapped the rigidity of her control. Face pallid, she slumped in her wheelchair making herself as small as possible.

"Shh, Bella, it's okay," Edward hunkered before her, careful not to make any sudden movements. "I'm here. No one will hurt you. I promise."

She dug her nails into her thighs, ragged gasps tearing from her mouth.

"Take deep breaths, Bella. See, you're okay. It will pass."

Her arm, still in a cast, pressed tighter to her torso. Fear and desperation burned in her gaze as she stared unseeing into space.

"That's just my mom, Bella. She'll _never_ harm you." Unmindful of their audience, he continued to talk, trying to distract her from going into full-blown panic-attack.

And as her heartbeats evened, he threw a grateful glance at his brother; confident he had used his gift to help her.

But Jasper shook his head, a serene smile creeping on his face.

 _'I didn't calm her, Edward … You did.'_


	21. Chapter 21

**Many thanks to my betas, Frannie and Angela, and all the lovely readers who have been with 'Wreckage' so far.**

* * *

 ** _'The universe wove you from a constellation just so atom, every fiber in you comes from a different star.'_**

 ** _– Nikita Gill_**

He left her near the door, moving to the farthest corner of the room.

"Bella, I want to show you something. Will you _please_ allow me to switch off the lights?"

Chariness bled into her at his request. And it set something in him too, unleashing a sickly nebula of haunting ache.

Hope snuffed by her loaded silence, he accepted defeat. "I'll just …"

"Okay." His head jerked up in surprise.

And then triggered the Heaven's release.

From a velvet swathe of deepest indigo, appeared hundreds of stars around a gleaming ball of ivory. In a frozen spiral of mauve, they manifested into a graceful twirl of the Universe.

A water screen mounted as the floor-to-ceiling window reflected the palest tones of bluish-silver. The sublime light softened the inky black, illuminating the backdrop with a cosmic glow.

Suddenly it changed to chartreuse.

A sharp puff of air left her as night turned into day, dousing their world with a dusty gold.

Her eyes traveled from the galactic mural on the ceiling to the sleet of water curtaining the window. Their brightness far outshone the constellations he had put together.

"Now you don't have to be scared," Edward murmured as if auguring the future.

"It won't get dark ... _ever._ "

* * *

 **AN:** You can google search 'Stella's murals' to see the glow-in-dark murals on Bella's ceiling. Her galactic ones are especially gorgeous. I saw the entire set up of water screen and the murals in a home décor magazine and thought it would make a unique gift.

2\. I've entered one of my short stories (a variation of one of the chapters of Wreckage) in a competition, and it got shortlisted. The winner will be decided by public vote, and I'll be really grateful if you guys will vote for me (if you like the fic, of course). Here is the link:

w w w dot adhocfiction dot com

The stories are listed in their 'Read' section and mine is 56th in the list, titled 'High and Low'.


	22. Chapter 22

**Wow! The reviews for the last chapter and Edward's gift blew me away. Thank you to everyone who read and voted for my contest entry too.**

 **Special thanks to my generous and very talented betas, Frannie and Angela, who pluck out all my errors.**

* * *

 ** _'But these are days we dream about, when the sunlight paints us gold.'_**

 ** _-Bright Eyes, Letting Off the Happiness (1998)_**

The cracks yawned, the rifts deepened.

Shaking and tottering, the ground moved, crumbling her absolutes.

She longed for the hostility, the lashings, the ridicule. Yes, they hurt until she bled raw, but they were familiar, took less effort to survive.

Unlike this kindness, which confused her to insanity.

Balmy broths to soothe her tender bowel, handrails along the walls to assist her movements, no chores, timely medication, the soft bed, gentle voices … Each gesture was disturbing, off-putting in its own right.

Yet, the worst of all were the skies; the vault of Heaven Edward had opened for her.

A shudder ran through her as she shifted, unable to look at the planetoids twinkling from the ceiling. They chipped away at her walls, pouring cool water on the wounds she had lost count of.

And that terrified her; made her teeter on the edge of a fall, which plunged to madness. For her first day of living with the Cullens, of living in _his_ home, the mess she was in was already astounding.

But Isabella knew she couldn't afford to forget nor _live_.

For the perfection was transient, the rainbow always disappeared after the showers.

There was no stopping the other shoe to drop …

* * *

 **So here's a dip into Bella's mind. Please let me know your thoughts.**


	23. Chapter 23

**A friend of mine told me that some readers consider it rude if authors don't reply to their reviews. And since I rarely reply to a review unless the reader has a question, I wonder how many people I've offended.**

 **It's not because I don't appreciate the generous comments you guys leave me, or I'm too snooty to reply. My internship, classes, and self-studies on an average consume sixteen-seventeen hours of my day (often on weekends too) which is why I never get 'round to replying to everyone.**

 **But please know, I absolutely cherish each of your reviews. They drive me to write and try and give my best.**

 **Beta love goes to Frannie and Angela, who work wonders with my draft.**

* * *

 ** _'She didn't want love. She wanted to be loved. And that was entirely different.'_**

 ** _-Atticus Poetry, Love her Wild_**

"How was the session?"

"She has clammed up."

He rubbed his forehead wearily. "I thought she would like my gift."

"But she did, Edward. She liked it too much, and that's precisely the problem."

Tanya perched beside him, fixing him with a pensive stare.

"There's a rather interesting belief about Solomon Islanders. The story goes that whenever they want to chop a big tree, they gather around it and start hurling abuses. This is continued until the tree dries up in a few days …" She paused as if weighing each word. "Although nobody could validate the truth of this claim, in a way, the basic principle is still the same- any type of abuse shoots the victim's psyche to hell."

"Bella doesn't feel worthy." Dirt fell to the ground, the boulder he had punched, crumbling to dust. It was a struggle not to give in to his bloodlust and hunt down her monsters.

"No, she doesn't, and that has made the walls surrounding her, higher. Not to mention, the albatross of her trust issues as far as others are concerned."

Her exclusion took him aback. "Not me?"

An amused smirk complemented the sly look on her face. She leaned forward to speak in his ear as if divulging a great secret.

"Edward, if there's _one_ person Isabella Swan could ever bring herself to trust … it would be _you_."


	24. Chapter 24

**Sorry for the delay, guys. Things are a bit hectic in my workplace at the moment. But I promise to give the next update sooner.**

 **My beta love goes to Frannie and Angela, who have worked diligently on this fic.**

* * *

 ** _'May your choices reflect your hopes, not your fears.'_**

 _ **\- Nelson Mandela**_

"I broke my promise to you."

Guarded eyes flew to his, confusion swimming in their dusky depths. With a pang, he wondered if it was the last time he would look at her.

"The night you confronted me in your room, I promised I would never take your choices away from you again; never keep you in the dark about things which concern you." Uncertainty broke through his careful blankness, shaking his voice.

It would be easy, _so easy_ to twist his words, to switch to a different boulevard altogether. He was nothing if not a proficient liar.

But he knew he owed her the truth.

Tanya's sagacious observation still seared him to again do otherwise.

 _"Edward, if there's one person Isabella Swan could ever bring herself to trust, it would be you."_

How effortlessly she had put his deepest desire to words. How efficiently she had reminded him of his own hypocrisy.

In his bid to covet Isabella's trust, he had disregarded a vital truth … trust was a two-way road; you don't gain it, without giving it first.

"Edward?" Her soft question broke his stupor. Edward met her gaze, determined to do right by her.

"Bella, I'm a vampire."

* * *

 **AN:** Did anyone see that coming? What are your guesses about the reason for Edward's impulsiveness?


	25. Chapter 25

**Wow! The response the previous chapter received was amazing. Thank you!**

 **The credit for readability and flow of this chapter goes to Frannie and Angela, who are two of the best betas any writer can ask for. Frannie is also hosting 'Summer Vacationward Postcard Contest' over at Facebook with some really brilliant entries. Please go and show your talent or send some love to the participants and her.**

* * *

 ** _'Extraordinary things are always hiding in places people never think to look.'_**

 ** _-Jodi Picoult_**

Neither a twitch nor a flicker broke her stony calm.

"I'm a _vampire,_ Bella."

"I heard you the first time, Edward."

"So is my family."

"I suspected as much."

He gawked at her, disbelief at her blasé reaction strong on his face. Then again, his expression smoothed.

"I'm not joking, nor am I delirious, or schizophrenic."

"The first time I talked to you, it was past midnight, in a hospital room, with a storm raging outside," She shifted, leaning against the pillows. "The day you told me about your mother, you left dents in the shape of your fingers on the metallic frame of my bed … When I told you about my suicide attempt, you crushed all the paint bottles in your hands, but not a scratch came to you."

His mouth hung open, his tongue a dry and leaden mass of flesh.

"Then there were little things … Your eyes change color whenever you are angry. Sometimes when you're distracted, you move too fast, like the time when you caught the glass I had accidentally dropped."

Bella looked down, fidgeting with her duvet.

"But despite everything, I _still_ doubted my theory. For quite some time I wondered if was losing my mind."

Bracing himself for the impact, Edward prompted for the inevitable denouement.

"What made you sure?"

"You made my portrait."


End file.
